


Reign of Error

by pulpriter



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Contrived fluff; Xtreme fluff; farcefluff, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 02:33:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 8,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5317214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pulpriter/pseuds/pulpriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A boatload of Nonsense and Nonsensibility</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Farce is defined as “A light dramatic work in which highly improbable plot situations, exaggerated characters, and often slapstick elements are used for humorous effect,” and that’s what you’re in for.  
> “Though this be madness, yet there is method in’t.” –Hamlet  
> “…an infinite deal of nothing…” Merchant of Venice

Dot Collins felt completely out of sorts. 

Here she was, newly married to the man of her dreams, who was not perfect but _was_ just wonderful in every way that counted. She still had her job with Miss Fisher, who was also not perfect, but was wonderful in her own offbeat way. Dot still got to spend her days with Mr. Butler, and Bert and Cec, the cabbies. Of course, she frequently had to deal with Hugh’s boss, the Inspector, but he wasn’t as frightening as she had first thought, and certainly never as frightening as Mrs. Stanley! Even Miss Fisher trod lightly with her aunt. But all told, Dot had a lovely life, full of friends and fulfilling work. 

So why was she so completely out of sorts?

Nothing felt right. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. Perhaps trying to manage a new marriage and a job were more than she could handle. Even a lovely cup of tea didn’t help settle her down, and she had fussed at Hugh at breakfast, so that he left in a huff. But right now, Miss Fisher would be wanting her tea, so Dot got to work preparing a tray. As she was about to take it upstairs, she heard Mr. Butler opening the back door.  
Dot could hear Bert’s voice, saying, “Big fire downtown at the children’s home! The firemen and police from all over town are being called in to help.”  
“What?” asked Dot, walking back to talk to them. “Hugh? Could he be there?”  
“Oh! Sorry, Dottie, we didn’t know you were there,” Cec said.  
“But—he’s probably downtown with the rest of them,” Bert said bluntly.  
“Oh, no.” Dot sat down heavily and set the tea tray on the table in front of her with a clunk. “Oh, no.”  
“Now, Dorothy, Hugh’s a good man, he knows what he’s doing,” said Mr. Butler.  
“Sure he is,” Bert said. Cec nodded.  
“Oh, but we had words this morning. I’ve got to go find him.” Dot jumped up in a flash—and slid immediately to the floor in a dead faint. 

All three men swarmed around her, calling her name, patting her hand. In a moment, she came to, and saw the three concerned faces looking down at her. “Ohh…”  
A fourth concerned face joined the crowd. “What’s going on here?” asked the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher. She swept into the room, silk robe trailing behind her, drawn downstairs by the commotion.  
“Dottie fainted,” Bert answered.  
“I’m afraid she was frightened by the news,” Mr. Butler said.  
“We didn’t mean to,” Cec said.  
“What news?” The men helped Dot to a chair. Phryne sat down and grabbed the teacup from the tray that Dot had prepared for her. She handed the teacup to Dot, and sat down across from her. “Here, drink this. It will help.” Dot wrinkled her nose at it, but forced it down.  
Bert told Phryne, “There’s a big fire at the children’s home.”  
Dot looked distressed again, so Bert toned it down as best he could. ‘They’ve called out all the police and firemen to help.”  
“Including Hugh,” Dot said unhappily.  
“Oh, dear, I’m sure he’ll be fine, Dot. He knows what to do.” As she consoled Dot, Phryne had a worry of her own. Hugh at least would follow orders, but the man who gave the orders had been known to take chances… “I’ll dress quickly, and we can drive over to see what the situation is.” She grabbed a piece of toast and headed for the stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

Phryne drove Dot downtown in the Hispano-Suiza. There was no question where the fire was. Onlookers crowded around, and police constables were stretched thin keeping civilians out of harm’s way.   
Once they laid eyes on the situation, Phryne and Dot felt as if it would be impossible to find Hugh or Jack in this confusion. Still they walked on, moving through the crowd, watching for faces they recognized. Finally Dottie saw one. “Constable Foster!” she called.   
“Oh, Mrs. Collins!” he said.   
“Is Hugh here? Have you seen him?”   
“Yes. The last I saw him was just a few minutes ago. He’s around the corner, taking a breather. You’ll find him,” the constable said reassuringly to Dot. The constable recognized the boss’s fancy lady, too, but didn’t say anything, never having been connected like Collins was.   
“Ohh!” Dot said, with a hand to her heart, breathing a sigh of relief. 

Phryne felt relieved for Dot, and they hurried around the corner to see Hugh. For her part, Phryne hoped Hugh could give her some news of Jack. She still hadn’t seen any sign of him.   
They found Hugh, sitting on a scorched table that someone had carried out of the building. “Hugh!” Dottie exclaimed, running to him.   
He was spotted all over with soot, and he coughed as he tried to answer. “Dottie!”   
She embraced him, soot and all, right there in public. “Oh, Hugh, I’ve been so worried.”   
He looked lovingly at her, and said reassuringly, “I’m fine,” which launched him into a coughing fit.   
Phryne spared a smile for the sweet young couple, but had her own fish to fry. “Hugh, is the Inspector here?”  
“Oh, Miss!” he said as if noticing her for the first time. He only had eyes for Dot, and answered without thinking, “No, they had to take him to hospital. No, no, Miss, I think he’ll be fine, smoke inhalation, and—he may have been injured..no, no, he’ll be fine—”   
All of this was punctuated by coughing, and none of it was encouraging in the least. Phryne asked, “Dot, will you be all right if I leave you here? I’m going to go see if Mac has any idea where to find him. I can send Bert and Cec to pick you up.”   
“Of course, Miss,” Dot said, happy to have a chance to make things right with Hugh.


	3. Chapter 3

Phryne drove to the morgue to see if Mac had any idea where Jack might be. The hospital was not prepared for an emergency of this magnitude. There were men on cots and benches, even tables, all the way through the halls; every available flat surface seemed to have been utilized as a bed. At last she came to the door to the morgue and walked in. It was empty, save for a body on the examining table.  
“Mac? Mac, have you seen J---aaaacCK!” Phryne gasped as she realized whose body lay in front of her. At her shriek, said body moaned and lolled his head a bit.  
“Phryne! No, honey, it’s fine, he’s fine,” Mac said, running around the corner. “I was just trying to call you. He’s fine, darling, he’s fine, just unconscious.” Phryne had lost all colour and appeared to be on the verge of losing consciousness herself. Mac pulled the cover back to reveal Jack’s chest, bare save for a long bandage down one side of his rib cage. Mac laid Phryne’s hand on his heart. “See? Still beating.”  
Phryne heaved an enormous sigh, let her fingers sense his heartbeat for several moments before moving them to his carotid artery to feel the pulse there. Consoled, and convinced, her fingers roamed up to stroke his cheek.  
“No abusing the patients,” said Mac severely.  
“I have no intention of abusing him,” Phryne purred, letting her eyes roam back to his unclothed shoulders and chest as far as she could see them. _This is better than Queenscliff_ , she thought to herself, despite the seriousness of the situation. “What happened?”  
“The story I got was that he managed to find two children who were hiding, and got them out before some kind of beam fell on him. It made a nasty entrance wound here,” Mac indicated the bandage, “and his shoulder was dislocated at the same time—it was quite a feat to get his shoulder back where it belonged with no help, and with his chest so injured. I managed that, but I had to give him a mild sedative so I could stitch up the rest. He’ll be fine, though.”  
Phryne grimaced. Putting a shoulder back in place was no easy thing, especially with Mac being so much smaller than her patient. Just then, Jack rolled his head slightly.  
“Jack. Wake up, Jack,” Phryne said, digging his hand out from under the covers and patting it to try to wake him. She didn’t want to jostle his shoulder or the stitches.  
He took a deep breath, and slowly his eyelashes fluttered open. His gaze fell on Phryne, then he took in the room, then saw Mac at his other side.  
“Am I dead?” he asked cheekily.  
“Oh!” Phryne said with irritation. “That’s not funny at all!”  
“Yes, it is,” Mac said with a grin. “None of my usual visitors ask that. But no, you’re not dead, you’re much more trouble than one of my corpses. What do you remember?”  
“I remember you put my shoulder back where it belonged,” Jack said gratefully. “It hurt like…er…”  
Mac nodded. “Like hell. You have quite a few stitches, too. But you’ll be fine: luckily for you, you had an excellent doctor.” He grinned back at her. “And, that excellent doctor would like to check her handiwork now that you’re awake.” Mac looked at Phryne and said, “Shoo!” It was accompanied with a wave of the hand.  
“What? Why?” Phryne complained.  
“Doctor/patient privilege. Wait outside,” Mac said in a voice that would brook no disagreement.  
Phryne pulled a disgusted face at Mac, but conceded, “Oh, very well,” and walked outside the door.  
As he sat up, stifling a groan when the stitches pulled, Jack looked at Mac. “That’s a good trick. You’ll have to teach me how to do that,” he said.  
Mac shook her head with a grin. “I don’t think it will work for you.” She looked up at him. “I think I’ll have to ask you to sit down here on a chair where I can reach you better.”  
Though he was vaguely embarrassed to display his bare torso to Mac, he was certain that she was as good as any male doctor he knew. That was why he had asked his constable to bring him to her initially; that, and he had hoped she would not be as busy as the other doctors. A dislocated shoulder demands restoration. Even so, it was hard to feel that this was proper. He reminded himself that she wouldn’t have any prurient attraction to him, and it helped that Mac was displaying no more interest in him than any cadaver she might encounter. 

“I think you’ll heal up fine. That puncture wound is nothing to treat lightly, so take care of it. Stay out of burning buildings for awhile, will you?” Mac said warmly. “Doctor’s orders.”  
“I’ll do my best,” he said, as she draped a sheet over his shoulders. “Can I get dressed now?”  
“I’m not sure,” Mac said, making a face. “Your clothes are a bit of a mess.”  
“Can I come back in now?” came Phryne’s voice from outside the door.  
“Yes, fine, come on in,” Mac said.  
Phryne walked in, and looked admiringly at Jack dressed in trousers and a sheet. “Do I understand you suffered some sartorial sacrifice, Jack?”  
“That’s one way to describe it.”  
“Where are his clothes, Mac?” Phryne asked, taking charge as Jack frowned at her. Mac grabbed the articles in question, and Phryne held them up to examine them. “That shirt’s ruined, I’m afraid…but the waistcoat might be saved. What about the jacket?”  
“I took it off—one less thing to catch fire. The constable who brought me here grabbed it, with my hat and coat. It’s around here, somewhere.”  
Mac glanced around the room. “I was only worried about your shoulder, I didn’t pay any attention to the constable or what he was doing.”  
Jack looked around as well, but didn’t see his other belongings anywhere.  
Phryne offered, “Let me look around. I think there might be someplace in the hall where things could be hung up.” She went out to see if she could discover his other clothes.


	4. Chapter 4

“Let me put that shirt on, then,” Jack said to Mac, reaching for it. “I think it will look all right under the waistcoat, at least long enough for me to get home and change.”  
Mac grabbed the other end of the shirt. “Slow down, there, Inspector,” she warned in her most official voice. “I spent a lot of time on those stitches, and I’d rather not have to do them again.” She pulled the shirt out of his hands, and held one sleeve so he could slip one arm in carefully. Jack took the sheet off his shoulders, laid it gently on the examining table, and put one arm gingerly into the sleeve—it was considerably more tender than he’d expected. He let out a slight groan as Mac drew the shirt around his shoulders, so she stopped and waited, watching him to see when he was ready for the other sleeve. She smiled apologetically down at him. At that moment she heard an indrawn breath from the doorway. Mac looked up and saw her new friend Emma, who Mac hoped would soon be more than a friend.  
“Oh!” Emma said, in a shocked tone. “I’m so sorry, I—I must have misunderstood—I mean, I didn’t mean to interrupt…”  
Mac suddenly realized how she must have looked to Emma: standing before a man, smiling at him, helping him to dress. Mac and Emma were not far past the introductory stage in their acquaintance, and Emma must have thought… “Wait, Emma!” Mac cried.  
Jack put his hand through the sleeve that Mac was holding, and said, “Do you need to go after her?”  
It was not the first time that Mac appreciated Jack’s tact as far as her—proclivities. He was honor bound to follow the law; but when it came to vice, as long as he didn’t actually witness any laws being broken, he was satisfied to leave it alone. “Yes—I’ll only be a minute,” Mac said. 

While she was gone, Jack managed to get himself buttoned up, and tucked in his shirt, mostly one-handed. The waistcoat was a challenge, but necessary to cover the ruined shirt. He had one arm in and was trying to get his other arm in when Mac came back in the room, her friend Emma in tow. When she saw him, she said with alarm, “Stop that! Let me help you!” She took the waistcoat and held and turned it so it was easier for him to slip the second arm in.  
“Thank you—I apologize, Miss—?”  
“Emma Simpson,” the woman said shyly. “I didn’t realize you were a patient. I didn’t think Mac _had_ patients…”  
“She slipped me in among the corpses as a favor,” Jack said offhandedly as he struggled to button his waistcoat.  
Mac rolled her eyes. “Emma, this is Detective Inspector Robinson. My friend Phryne is just outside somewhere, too—let me see if I can find her. I’d like you to meet her.” Mac strode out the door in the direction that Phryne had gone.  
Jack had managed to get his shirt and waistcoat on and buttoned, and was feeling somewhat more presentable, but there was still the matter of his necktie. It was fairly embarrassing to be partially dressed before a friend of Mac’s, though again he doubted he held any interest for her. He picked up the necktie and looked at it, trying to determine the best way to proceed.  
“Oh!” said Miss Simpson. “I can help! I used to tie my brother’s tie for him. May I?” She took the tie from his hand. She wrapped it around her neck, tied a perfect four-in-hand knot, and displayed it proudly. “Will this do?”  
Jack smiled and told her gratefully, “It will do nicely. Thank you!”  
Emma slipped it off her neck neatly and was about to hand it to the Inspector when she realized she had better help him put it around his neck. “Here—you don’t want to hurt yourself again, let me help.”  
She took a step closer, and he bent down so she could slip it over his head. She reached for his collar and turned it up so she could put the tie in place.  
“OH!” This was a voice Emma had not heard before.


	5. Chapter 5

Jack straightened immediately. “Phryne!” He looked directly at the woman who had just entered the room, and Emma would have sworn she could see an electrical current running between the two of them. “That is—Miss Phryne Fisher, this is Miss Emma Simpson…”  
Miss Fisher sauntered over. “Who…just happens to be tying your tie?” She aimed a dangerous smile at the Inspector.  
“I don’t seem to be much use at it at the moment,” he said with a bit of a smile flickering around his face. He couldn’t help but enjoy the slight tinge of jealousy in Phryne’s tone: she seemed to be suggesting that his ties were not to be shared with anyone else.  
“ _I’d_ have been happy to help, if I hadn’t been so busy chasing down the rest of your clothes,” she said, stepping close and looking sidelong at him. “Really, Jack! it doesn’t usually take three women to keep you put together.”  


Emma was definitely feeling _de trop_ when to her relief, Mac walked back through the door. “Phryne! Where did you come from? We must have been walking in circles around each other.” Mac walked over to Emma. “This is Emma Simpson.”  
“Oh!” said Phryne, realizing that Mac had mentioned this person to her before. “Oh, I see. Jack just introduced us, before you walked in.” This time Phryne’s smile for Emma was genuine. “I didn’t remember where I had heard the name, I’m sorry, Miss Simpson.”  
Emma smiled graciously. “And Mac has told me about you, Miss Fisher.”  
“Did you find the Inspector’s hat and coat?” Mac asked.  
“Yes, and the suit jacket. Here, I can hold it for you, Jack,” Phryne said.  
“No, not like that,” Mac fussed. “Here. Like this. I don’t want to tear those stitches.” Jack put his arms carefully into the jacket. “There. Now, you need to wear this sling—don’t give me that face, it’s important—as much as you can this first week.” She stood back to look at her handiwork. “Other than your tie, you’re all ready to go out into the world—and I suppose the first thing you’ll do is go get another shirt to put on, and you’ll have to go through all this again.” 

Jack had intended to go change, before he discovered what an ordeal it was. Considering this, he reached up with his good hand to smooth down the points of his collar. He quickly realized he had no way to straighten his necktie.  
Phryne stepped up without being asked. “Here. Let me,” she said, putting his collar points back up, tightening the tie properly, and putting the collar back down again. With a flourish, she tucked his tie into his waistcoat and smoothed it down. She looked up into his face, which was crossed by a bemused look that was very familiar. They stood there, unmoving, gazing. In those few moments, they had travelled to their own world, so that it took the sound of the morgue door closing for them to remember there had been two more people in the room. It broke the spell for both of them.  
“Well, that’s just fine!” Phryne complained. “They go and leave us alone just when you’re all dressed again.”


	6. Chapter 6

Now dressed properly enough that he could venture out in public, Jack was anxious to see what was happening downtown and to see how Hugh and his other constables were faring—even if it meant a ride with Phryne. The streets were so blocked with onlookers and police that it put a crimp in Phryne’s usually speedy driving, which made it easier for Jack to search for familiar faces. In short order, he had found Constable Evans.  
“How are things going here, Evans?” Jack asked as he exited the glamourous Hispano-Suiza, with the equally glamourous woman in the driver’s seat. Evans wondered how the Inspector managed to be so businesslike with a woman like that following him around. Some of the other men said she wouldn’t leave him alone, others said he was the one who chased after her. Evans tried to stay out of it, but it was hard not to think about it with that beautiful lady so nearby.  
“I think the fire is under control, and as far as we know, everyone has been rescued,” Evans said.  
“Have you seen Senior Constable Collins? He was here earlier.”  
“Yes, sir. He went back to the station when we got word that the men on traffic duty would be the only ones who needed to stay.”  
“Good,” Jack said tersely. “You’re all right here?”  
“Yes sir. We should be done soon.”  
The Inspector nodded. “Come back to the station as soon as you can.”  
He strode back to the car. Phryne had heard every word, so she was making plans for them to get to City South through the crowds. 

In no time, they arrived at the station house. Hugh was managing the front desk with several other constables coming and going. “Inspector!” Hugh said happily. “Miss Fisher!”  
“Collins,” Jack said briefly, although there was an appreciative light in his eyes. “How are you? None the worse for wear?”  
“No, sir.” Just then, Dot walked in from a back room where she had made tea. She handed a cup to Hugh, who smiled. “Dottie makes the best tea in the world. It’s restorative.”  
“Hear, hear!” said Phryne.  
Dot smiled at the attention. “I can bring some for you, Miss, Inspector--?”  
“That would be wonderful, Dot! Oh, come on, Jack, she said it’s already made, you’re not imposing, is he, Dot?”  
“No, Miss,” Dot said, and left to get two more cups. 

“Sir, how were you injured?” Hugh indicated the sling on the Inspector’s arm. “I never heard what happened.”  
“Oh—I was hit by something falling from the ceiling,” Jack said casually. “I had to have some stitches.”  
“ _And_ your shoulder was dislocated, _and_ it was more than a few stitches,” Phryne asserted. “ _And_ you should keep after him to wear that sling, too, Hugh, I can tell he’s intending to remove it as soon as he thinks no one’s looking.” Jack shot her a look of exasperation, but she simply smiled back at him, and reached out to take the two cups of tea from Dot, who had just reentered the room. She handed one to Jack. “Cheers.”  
He shook his head slightly, but raised a cup, and drank. When he did, his clothing moved just enough that the burnt edge of his shirt was exposed.  
“Oh, dear,” Phryne said, tucking it back in. “I hope you had no important meetings planned for today. Those burnt clothes don’t put you in your best light. I’m afraid the shirt’s not salvageable, although I can probably find a tailor to take a look at that waistcoat.”  
It was hardly proper for Phryne to discuss his clothes, but it was little surprise to Jack that she did. He was about to remark upon it, when Hugh said, “Dottie could probably fix it, sir.”  
Phryne whirled to look at Dot. “Of course! She’s a genius at repairs! You should see what she can do with a pair of stockings! Would you, Dot?”  
Dot was on the spot, so of course she said politely, “I can take a look, Miss.”  
“There! You can send it along with Hugh some evening, Jack!” Phryne said, delighted to have managed everything so well.  
Jack had completely lost control of the conversation, but it was not an unfamiliar feeling, so he simply said, “Yes. Thank you, Mrs. Collins.” He aimed a look at Phryne. “And now, if we are all done arranging my apparel, I should get to work.” He headed back to his office. Naturally, Phryne followed him down the hall.

“Hugh!” Dot said as soon as the other two were out of earshot. “What were you thinking? Why did you volunteer me to repair the Inspector’s clothing?”  
Hugh was baffled. “Why—because you’re good at it, Dottie. As Miss Fisher said, you can fix anything!”  
“Well, that doesn’t mean you should go putting me in such an awkward position!”  
Hugh couldn’t figure out where things went off the rails. “I’m sorry. I thought you’d want to. The Inspector has done a lot for me—for us.”  
“Don’t try to make me feel guilty!” Dot fussed.  
“What? I’m not! Dottie—I thought you’d be happy to do it.”  
Dot said with a stubborn look, “Maybe you should stop thinking for me.” She put her teacup down on the counter and headed for the door.  
“Wait! Where are you going?” Hugh asked, frustrated.  
“I’m going to do my job at Miss Fisher’s house.”  
“But—she’s here…”  
“Oh! There are a lot of things I do for her, and she doesn’t have to be there for me to do them. And I don’t need more work, although apparently I will be getting some.” She charged through the doors before Hugh could answer.


	7. Chapter 7

Once she was outside the police station, Dot walked slowly down the street to a park, and sat down heavily on a bench near a lovely flowering tree.  
“What was I thinking?” she wondered to herself. “Now I’ve picked a fight with Hugh, for the second time today. It’s as if I didn’t learn a thing from the way I felt this morning. And why did I get so angry? Of course I’d be happy to help Inspector Robinson, if I can, even if it feels a little improper…it’s not as if I’ve never done anything improper for Miss Fisher before! And he’s done so much for Hugh, oh, why was I so cross?”  
She sat for awhile, pondering the events of the day and the way she was feeling about them. She decided on a plan of action, and before she could think of finding a telephone, a taxi came by. She hailed it, even though she would have preferred to ride with Bert and Cec, and made her way to Wardlow.

Once there, she went in through the garden door, greeted Mr. Butler, and began to put her plan into action. There was one part that she didn’t like very much, but it had to be done, and she would set it to rights later, as soon as she could. She listened carefully for Mr. Butler to step outside the kitchen, and then she crept in and went to the tin where he kept some money for incidental household expenses. She opened it, and took out the minimum that she thought she would need, stuffed it in the pocket of her sweater, and closed up the tin and put it back on the shelf. Before she could turn around, a familiar voice said imperiously, “Mrs. Collins, is that you?”  
Dot tried to look innocent but felt she had probably failed miserably. “Oh! Mrs. Stanley! I didn’t know you were here!”  
“No, I daresay you did not. Would you be so kind as to make me a cup of tea? I was waiting in the parlour for Phryne, but I’m not sure I can wait very much longer.”  
“Oh, of course, I’ll make you some tea. Miss Fisher is at the police station. I don’t know how long she will be; she doesn’t have a case.”  
Prudence looked skyward. It didn’t appear that it was even necessary for Phryne to have a reason to go to the police station these days. No, that was wrong; Prudence knew what the reason was. She just wasn’t sure she could approve.

But what had that girl been doing with that tin? She had looked as guilty as Eve when she turned around. And what had she put in her pocket?  
Perhaps Prudence could turn the tables on Phryne and become a detective herself. 

Soon after, Dot brought Mrs. Stanley a cup of tea. The girl _did_ know how to make tea, whatever else she might be up to. “Thank you,” Prudence said politely.  
“Of course, ma’am,” Dot said. “Is there anything else I can bring you?”  
“No, thank you,” Prudence said. It felt like a dismissal, so Dot left the room.

Not five minutes later, Prudence heard a loud car drive in. She was glad she had stayed. She had to wait a bit longer, however, before she saw her niece. There was a good bit of hushed discussion between Mr. Butler and Phryne in the kitchen, before Phryne sailed into the parlour. “Hello, Aunt P!” Phryne said with a smile as she came to kiss Prudence’s cheek.  
“Hello, dear,” Prudence said, melting a bit as she often did in the presence of her niece, although she tried hard to maintain the proper decorum. “How are you today?”  
“Oh, fine, but it’s been such a trying day,” Phryne said, easing into a chair across from Prudence. “There was a fire downtown, and Dot was worried about Hugh, and the Inspector was injured, and—just one thing after another.”  
“I hope the Inspector will be all right,” Prudence said kindly.  
“Oh, he’s back in his office already, against all advice, of course,” Phryne said, little realizing how much of her feelings she gave away. “I just left him. But I suppose all’s well that ends well…” She smiled to herself to think how Jack would appreciate the reference.  
“And Constable Collins is all right, as well?”  
“Oh, yes, he breathed a little more smoke than he should have, but he’s fine. Isn’t Dot here?”  
Prudence gathered her thoughts. “Yes, she made me a cup of tea.”  
“Oh, good.” Phryne frowned. “Maybe she saw something.”  
“What do you mean?” Prudence asked warily.  
“Mr. Butler just told me that some money has gone missing from the household fund. He’s such a wonder—the tin was only a tiny bit out of place. But I don’t know who would do such a thing,” Phryne said.  
“Would Mrs. Collins use that money?”  
Phryne’s brow knitted. “I can’t think why. She receives her own pay. Why?”  
Prudence said slowly, “I’m afraid I saw something.”


	8. Chapter 8

Dot knew nothing of what Aunt Prudence was telling Miss Fisher. Once Mrs. Stanley dismissed her, she went to Mr. Butler and told him she was going out. He was preoccupied with the missing money, but didn’t mention it to Dot, since it seemed she had more than enough on her mind these days.   
At the end of the street, Dot met Bert and Cec, so she asked them for a ride. “Where are you going, Dottie?” Bert asked jovially.   
“To the morgue, please,” Dot said firmly.   
“Not anyone we know, is it?” Cec joshed. Bert elbowed him, and they both grinned.   
Dot was incensed. “What if it was? Then how would you feel?”  
The cabbies looked at each other in alarm. “Is it? Someone we know?”   
Dot admitted, “Well, no, but—but it could have been!”   
“All right, Dottie, we’ll watch it,” Cec said in a conciliatory way.   
The cabbies talked about the racing news for the remainder of the drive. Dot told herself it was as much as she deserved. 

Dot walked into the morgue. Dr. MacMillan came into the main room almost immediately. “Well, this has been a busy day! First Jack Robinson ends up in my morgue, then Phryne appears, and now you! But I don’t actually have any suspicious deaths to look into at the moment. Does Phryne have a case?”   
Dot looked at her feet. “No—that is, not that I know of. I came to you because—because I think I need a doctor.”   
Mac looked assessingly at her. “Do you now? Why don’t you sit down and tell me why that is?”   
Dot sat, and looked up at the doctor forthrightly. “I can pay you, but I don’t know how much it would be.”   
Mac nodded. “Mm-hmm. Well, let’s see what the problem is, and then I can tell you how much it will be. Don’t worry about it right now. I’m sure you can afford it.”   
“Oh!” This was a great relief to Dot. “All right. What do I have to do?”   
“First of all, why don’t you tell me what the problem is? Is it an ache, an itch, a rash--?”  
“No. None of those things. I’d know what to do about those things,” Dot said sadly.   
“So---?”  
“Dr. Mac, I just don’t feel like myself anymore!” Dottie cried. “I’ve been fighting with Hugh for no reason, and I feel so worn down all the time, and nothing tastes good, even tea. I thought being married would be so wonderful, but I don’t feel normal anymore. Do you think all new wives go through this?”   
“Not all new wives, but a good many of them, I think,” Mac said with a small smile.   
Dr. Mac didn’t seem to be at all disturbed by what Dot was saying, and that was a relief. Dot had been fearful that she was a bad wife or didn’t deserve to have a husband, and she said so.   
“Have you been a bad wife?” Dr. Mac asked.   
“I did pick fights for no good reason,” Dottie admitted.   
“Do you suppose you’re the only woman ever to do such a thing?”   
“No, but—” Suddenly all her bravado vanished. “Oh, Dr. Mac, I just don’t know what’s wrong with me these days!” Dot wailed, and burst into tears.   
Mac raised an eyebrow. “I suspect I do,” she said. She found a handkerchief and handed it to Dot.   
Dot dried her tears, and asked, “You do?”  
“I do. And it happens to a lot of new wives. I’ll need to do a test to make sure, but I don’t think you have anything unusual to worry about, Dot.”   
“Oh, what a relief,” Dottie said.   
“Some people would say so,” Dr. MacMillan said with a smirk.


	9. Chapter 9

Dot went out to the cab wearing a smile brighter than Bert had seen from her in days. “Hello, Bert! Where’s Cec?”   
“He had to see a man about a horse.” Bert laughed to himself, because it was true—Cec had gone to place a bet on a race. “But I can take you home, Dottie.”   
“Take me to Miss Fisher’s, please.” Dot hopped into the cab easily.  
As they drove along, Dot reflected on her circumstances. Her relief at the good news she had from Mac made her feel that she should begin afresh, and that would involve a confession; but she wouldn’t need a priest. “Bert…I did a terrible thing.”   
Bert was having none of it. “I can’t believe that, Dottie. What would you do that’s so awful?”   
Dot could hardly bear the shame of it, but she knew she had to go on. “I took some of Mr. Butler’s household money to pay Dr. MacMillan.”   
Bert was reassuring. “Well, Dottie, I’m sure everyone will understand.”   
“But Bert, I didn’t need it! Dr. Mac said that it was really just advice, and that it wouldn’t cost anything, except for a test she had to do, and she said I can pay her for that once she gets the results—and I’ll have saved enough to pay her myself by then.”   
Bert tried to keep his smile a secret. He had had to get used to the lady doctor, but she was clearly a good egg to do that for Dottie. “She said that, did she? Well, that’s good luck, then.”   
“So…I have to put the money back.”   
“Sure. That’s a good idea,” Bert agreed.   
“I was so afraid of getting caught the first time. Can you help me? Can you distract Mr. Butler for me?”   
Bert looked kindly at her. “I can do better than that. I’ll put it back for you, don’t worry about a thing. I’m quick. It won’t be a problem at all.” 

Bert left Dottie at her own home, reassuring her that it would all be taken care of without a hitch. No one would ever know. Dot slipped the wad of money to Bert, and went to make dinner for Hugh. After a day like this one, only a special meal would do.   
Bert went on to Miss Fisher’s house and entered through the garden door. He took a quick look around but didn’t see Mr. Butler anywhere. Bert went directly to the tin where the money was kept, and grabbed it, and put the money back in. He was about to put it back on the shelf when he heard a footstep behind him. He whirled and dropped the tin. “Mr. B!” he exclaimed.   
Mr. Butler was stunned to think that Bert was the guilty party; as far as he knew, the cabbies had no need of money since meeting Miss Fisher. Before Mr. Butler could say anything, Bert began to stammer, “Now, I can explain…”   
“Please do,” said Miss Fisher, who had just strolled up behind Mr. Butler. 

“All right, I will,” Bert said. “But it’s confidential. You can’t tell anyone.”   
Mr. Butler nodded. “All right.”   
Phryne looked at Bert with fascination. “I’m quite intrigued. Do tell.”   
As simply as he could, Bert explained that Dot had taken the money, thinking she would need it to pay for a visit to the doctor, but that Dr. Mac had told her there would be no charge until some later date. As soon as they heard it, both Phryne and Mr. Butler believed Bert. With what Aunt Prudence had told Phryne about Dot (which Phryne had not yet shared with Mr. Butler), and with what they both knew about Dot and Bert, it all was completely plausible, and Phryne said so. “Although I’m not sure what that says about this household!”   
There was a knock at the door, and Mr. Butler left to answer it.


	10. Chapter 10

Bert replaced the tin on the shelf where it belonged.   
“Thank goodness, everything is put back to rights!” Miss Fisher said. “Oh, Bert, thank you for looking after Dottie!” She found herself so relieved, after all the tension of the day, that she stepped up to Bert and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. He was surprised at first, but quickly got into the spirit of the thing. As they began to move apart, they found that Miss Fisher’s pin was caught in the knit of Bert’s waistcoat. “Wait. Stop,” Phryne said sharply, not wanting anything to happen to the pin. If only she had pinned it to her scarf as she usually did! But today she had attached it to her blouse, having heard about the fire and feeling the need for some extra courage to face the day.   
It was awkward, trying to work the pin loose, and Bert was only making it worse while he tried to help. After what seemed like an eternity, Bert said, “There’s nothing for it. We’ll just have to give it a yank.” He started to grab the fabric to do just that.   
“NOOO!” Phryne roared, fearful that the pin would be damaged. “Stop it, Bert! Absolutely not! I won’t let you!”   
Immediately, Prudence Stanley appeared in the doorway, her face revealing her alarm. She had heard Phryne’s exclamation, and now saw Phryne grabbing Bert’s hands, which were definitely in a place that Prudence didn’t expect to see them. Prudence’s eyes were as wide as saucers, and she said indignantly, “Bert! Phryne! What on earth! What are you two up to?” 

On her heels was none other than Inspector Robinson. It was his knock that Mr. Butler had answered, and he had been in the midst of greeting Mr. Butler and hanging up his coat and hat when Phryne had shrieked. Jack had nearly been knocked to the floor by Aunt Prudence speeding through the parlour doors to see what was happening.   
The Inspector stared at the two before him, taking in the situation for a moment without speaking.   
“Jack!” Phryne said, aware of how it looked.   
“Now hold on a minute, Inspector,” Bert said. “This ain’t what it looks like.”   
Jack looked piercingly at the two of them. Bert and Phryne waited anxiously. At last, Jack asked Bert, “Are you sure about that? It looks very much as if Miss Fisher’s pin is caught in your waistcoat.”   
“Oh!” Bert said. “Well, I guess it is what it looks like, then.” He looked at Miss Fisher, who had a most unusual smile on her face—but it was not directed at Bert.   
“A pin? Caught on his waistcoat? For goodness’ sake, Phryne!” Aunt Prudence said in consternation. “What you don’t get up to!” She marched up to the guilty-looking pair, reached between them and quickly freed the pin from the fabric. “There.”   
“Thank you, Aunt P.” Phryne’s appreciation was heartfelt. She quickly examined the pin to be sure it had not been harmed, but it was fine.   
Bert felt he should beat a hasty retreat, not entirely trusting the Inspector’s calm demeanour. “Well—if I’m not needed anymore….”   
Prudence stepped up and said, “You can take me home, if you will. Phryne, we can discuss the charity dance another day. There is too much going on in this house, it has given me a headache.”   
“Sure thing, Mrs. Stanley,” Bert said, happy for an escape route. “I’ll bring the car around.” He left through the garden door. 

“I’ll just gather my things,” Prudence said. She turned to go back to the parlour, and Jack stepped politely out of the way. Phryne followed, slowing as she neared Jack and favoring him with a smile that he could not misunderstand—and she could see from his expression that he did not, in fact, misunderstand.   
As they reached the door to the parlour, Prudence came through with her belongings in hand. “Good night, Phryne. I’m glad it all ended well. Your life is never dull, is it?”   
Phryne laughed and kissed Aunt Prudence’s cheek. “It never is. I make sure of it.”   
Prudence glanced across at the Inspector, who was watching Phryne with that indulgent expression that Prudence noticed more and more. Any man who threw in his lot with Phryne would have to be indulgent, to be sure! As a concession, Prudence said kindly, “Good evening, Inspector Robinson.”   
“Good evening, Mrs. Stanley.” Prudence always appreciated his formality. Without formality, how can one know where one stands in the world? She nodded regally, and proceeded out the front door to the cab where Bert was waiting for her.


	11. Chapter 11

Alone in the foyer, Phryne took Jack’s good arm and said, “Come have a drink with me. I feel as if I’ve lived half a dozen days, today alone.” Jack nodded and joined her, and she poured two whiskeys, not bothering to ask what he wanted, as she already knew. He accepted the drink, and as a toast, offered, “To denouements?”  
Phryne tapped his glass and echoed, “To denouements!” and drank, as he did. She pondered for a moment, and added, “There is still a mystery to be solved, though.”  
“Is there?”  
Phryne quickly recapped the story of Dot and the missing money. She may have been sworn to secrecy, but there was no one more discreet than Jack Robinson—except Mr. Butler, of course.  
“What do you suppose Mac told Dot? Do you think she’s all right?”  
Jack shook his head. “You’re usually far more acute than this, Miss Fisher.”  
It only took her a moment. “You mean…”  
He looked down at her upturned face. “I’m sure it’s their news to share, whenever they are ready.”  
Phryne’s lips curled in delight. “Oh, I expect you’re right! Well done, Inspector!” She tapped his glass again.  
“Perhaps the greater mystery would be whether Dr. MacMillan was able to explain things to the satisfaction of Miss Simpson,” Jack said, taking his turn at teasing.  
“That would be the woman who was tying your tie,” Phryne reminded him. “A very useful skill, that. Did Rosie ever tie your necktie for you?”  
“Rosie? No!” He seemed amazed at this turn in the conversation. “I doubt she ever knew how.”  
“Really,” Phryne purred. “She missed a lot of fun, then.”  
He shrugged. “She did learn how to untie it…”  
“I should hope so,” Phryne said fondly, stroking the necktie currently under discussion. “But to return to your question, I can’t guess how it will have turned out for Mac.”  
“I didn’t have the impression they knew each other very well, yet,” Jack proposed.  
“No, I don’t think so,” Phryne said.  
“Not long enough to have learned to trust each other, then.”  
“No.” Phryne caught his eyes and held them. “It takes time to learn that about someone. That you can assume the best, rather than the worst.”  
He nodded, and did not look away. “It’s very comfortable to be able to depend on that.”  
“Yes. It is,” Phryne answered. “A feeling to be cherished.” 

They wandered over to the fireplace, and Phryne said with a forced lightness, “I must ask you, though, to avoid taking any more naps in the morgue. Please.”  
He laughed. “It wasn’t really my idea. Dr. Mac didn’t give me much choice.”  
Phryne looked away. The lightness disappeared from her voice, and she said softly, “It was terrible.” She raised her eyes back up to his. “What’s that smile about?”  
His eyes were a deep, dark pool. “It’s a long time since anyone’s bothered much about me. Thank you.”  
She challenged him. “I’m sorry, Inspector, but I’m afraid I have to accuse you of overlooking the evidence. Someone’s been bothering about you for some time now…” He laid his hand gently on her arm, and she gently stroked his chest near where she knew it was bandaged. “…and—perhaps—you’re a little bothered about me?” she hinted suggestively.  
It only took a beat. “I’m always bothered by you.”  
“ _That’s_ not what I said!” she protested. Ignoring her, he gathered her close, as best he could with one arm in a sling. 

Just then, they heard the front door open. Aunt Prudence burst into the foyer without knocking. “One of my gloves is missing! Did I leave it in your parlour, Phryne?”  
She walked into the parlour, to see the Inspector leaning calmly against the mantel. Phryne, a mere step away, was regarding Aunt Prudence with a mix of incredulity and inevitability.  
As Prudence searched the parlour for the lost glove, the phone rang, and Mr. Butler hurried to answer. “It’s one of your constables, sir. Your assistance is needed downtown.”  
“Of course,” Jack said politely, if wearily. “Thank you, Mr. Butler.” Phryne saw the nearly imperceptible shake of his head. He told her, “I’m afraid I’ll have to leave.” They left Aunt Prudence to her search. 

Phryne walked with Jack to the foyer, watched as he put on his coat and hat. They continued to the door and wondered if there might be time for…  


Aunt Prudence said loudly, “I found it! I’m sorry to bother you, Phryne, but those gloves were irreplaceable.” As Phryne pondered what kind of gloves could possibly be irreplaceable, Prudence came into the foyer and said, “Oh, Inspector, are you leaving too?”  
Jack glanced at Phryne, who was struggling to keep from laughing, and back at Mrs. Stanley. “Why, yes, I am. I’d be pleased to see you to the cab.” He offered her his good arm.  
Prudence was pleasantly surprised, and she took his arm, saying, “Thank you, Inspector.” She looked over at Phryne, who had such a loving look on her face. “Good night, Phryne, dear.”  
“Good night, Aunt P,” Phryne said with a tiny sigh.  
Separately, with a light in her eyes that was only for him, she added regretfully, “Good night, Jack. I suppose we can talk more tomorrow about—what we were discussing earlier.”  
“You can depend on it,” he answered. Meeting her eyes over Mrs. Stanley’s head, he took her by surprise.  
His eyes were twinkling at her reaction, then he turned to Mrs. Stanley, who had noticed none of this interplay, and escorted her to the cab. 

Phryne closed the door and leaned against it. A wink from Jack Robinson! Would wonders never cease! She would do everything in her power to see that happen again. As soon as possible.


End file.
